


Classics

by becisvolatile



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bec does teh fluff, F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becisvolatile/pseuds/becisvolatile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky, unlike Steve, knows <i>exactly</i> what that bike does to the girls...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classics

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the prompt 'Darcy x Bucky and motorcycles' given to me by the lovely astreetcarnamedwynn. Hope this does the job. I'm still taking prompts over at my tumblr, where you can find me as 'becisvolatile'...

It reads 2148 on the microwave clock when Steve lets himself into the apartment. Steve, not Bucky... and Darcy can feel her last thread of hope fray and snap. 

Steve looks like he has a wicked case of indigestion as his gaze sweeps over the tea lights burning low in their mason jars and the artfully arranged plates. Suddenly, Darcy wants nothing more than to rush back to her apartment and delete her Pinterest account, because knowing how to set a romantic table and how to make wedding favours out of fucking seed packets is for people in relationships, not for Darcy Lewis. 

She nearly knocks her chair over in the rush to escape Steve's kitchen (and her own embarrassment). It all gets so much worse when he catches her mid-dive for her bag and lets her own momentum hurtle her into his chest. Crying is absolutely the last thing she wants to do, so instead she starts listing the varieties of Chinese food that she's got waiting in the fridge and how long he'll need to microwave each one if he wants to eat them later. 

Steve listens, wraps her tighter in his arms then speaks softly, "I'm sorry Darcy. He's just been sent upstate for a couple of days, I was meant to tell you. I just forgot." 

"Captain America isn't allowed to lie," Darcy sniffs as she tries to disengage from the hug. Her glasses catch on one of his buttons and there's a moment of awkward shuffling between them. 

Steve passes a hand over the back of his neck, the guilt over being busted lying to cover for Bucky is clearly written across his pinked up cheeks. "He used to be a romantic, Darce. Flowers, dancing... singing, when he was drunk enough." 

But Darcy doesn't want to hear about romantic gestures performed more than fifty years before her birth. "Tell him," Darcy begins as she grabs her bag, "Actually, don't tell him anything. Don't tell him I was here." 

~*~ 

The next morning Darcy signs herself up for a dating app, twenty minutes later she receives her first unsolicited dick pic and promptly deletes her profile. It was a stupid idea anyway. She can't, by will alone, resolve to be over Bucky. Especially not when she's 80 per cent sure he'll be back in a day or two and fully expect to amble along at the same pace they always have. 

Worse still, she thinks about him, about the sex and how the hard lines of his face relax afterwards and she feels like a jerk for wanting to put conditions on what they have. But, Jesus, it's been _nine months_ and she doesn't even have a single photo of them together on her phone. 

The problem with being with Bucky is that for so long she felt lucky to have him at all. Completely blindsided, sure, but _lucky_. It was hard to even pinpoint how they started. One day there was coffee on her desk, her name written on the side. The following day there was coffee again, only this time it was being held out to her in a stiff, metallic hand. The day after that he took her home and didn't leave for two days. Steve knew from the start, maybe because Bucky had been pressed to explain his frequent absences from their place. 

For the last three months they've seen each other almost nightly, excepting the nights he's out of town or she's out doing fieldwork with Jane. Actually, she's almost certain that he's spent more time with his mouth between her legs than actually kissing her. She's not sure if that's a pro or a con. 

Either way, orgasms abounded but not a whole lot else. 

A shadow passes close to her desk and she _hates_ how disappointed she is when she looks up to find Steve standing there, leather jacket and helmet tucked under his arm. 

"Working for the devil?" she asks with a nod to the conference room where he's spent the last two hours holed up with Tony and an assortment of heavy hitters that she'll swear she never _ever_ saw meeting. 

"Gotta go where the fight is," Steve says with an uneasy smile. 

"And the money..." 

"Well, he _is_ obscenely rich." 

"I'm sure all that spandex doesn't come cheap..." She muses as she nudges her glasses back up on her nose. 

"It's _not_ spa- I swear Bucky and you share a brain sometimes. Come have a beer?" 

Darcy checks her watch, she's still got an hour on the clock, but then Stark has already told her she's getting Employee of the Month on account of how her rack looks in a Henley, so she's comfortable shutting down her laptop and following Steve toward the elevator. 

~*~ 

Bucky isn't great at picking up on social cues, not the way he used to be. But he _is_ pretty certain that Steve's one word reply to his text asking if Darcy had been around means that something is wrong. He decides to atone for his relational truancy by way of caffeine, a language that both he and Darcy speak fluently. 

He's in the process of ordering two large coffees from the cart in the foyer of Stark's Tower when he spots Darcy on the other side of the plate glass wall. She's standing just a bit back from the curb, waiting. It isn't long before Steve pulls up on his Street 750 letting it idle as he hands Darcy a helmet. He, unlike Steve, knows _exactly_ what that bike does to the girls and he tenses up as he watches her reach out to stroke the fuel tank between Steve's thighs. 

Steve helps her with the spare helmet, then there's a hideous moment as Bucky watches her swing her leg around and _plaster_ herself against Steve's back. 

He can hear the bike roar as they peel away from the curb and, even with the glass between them, his sternum rattles. He's not sure if the sickly sensation is from the noise, or his heart stuttering in his chest. 

"Order for Darcy?" The barista calls as she lines the cups up on the counter. He always orders under Darcy's name and he doesn't want to explore _why_ that is. Bucky picks up the coffees, planning to hand them off to the guys at security. 

"I used to own a motorcycle," he murmurs to the barista, but his words are lost as she releases a noisy blast of steam and moves on to her next order. 

~*~ 

It's still way too dark outside when Darcy is woken up by a vigorous squeeze of the breast. It's Bucky's catchall indication that a) he would like sex, b) she's fallen asleep on his arm again or c) he has an early start and he's about to leave, b) and c) usually loop back to a) with varying degrees of urgency. But apparently it now means d) it's the buttcrack of dawn, but she can't be mad because he's holding coffee. 

"Wha?" Darcy swats his hand, so he moves to the other breast. She gropes around of her bedside table to check the time on her phone and winces as the white light smacks her in the face. It takes a couple attempts before she can actually _read_ the time and by the time she makes out that it's 4AM she's struggling to sit up and make a grab for the coffee. 

"Don't be like that, Doll," Bucky murmurs as he leans in to nuzzle her neck, "Got a surprise for you." 

"It's 4AM, Bucky. Everything that doesn't involve being asleep is a _surprise_." 

"Late night with Steve?" He asks and she wonders if that's meant to make her feel guilty, like she's been busted doing something wrong. Which she hasn't. 

"Ok, hold _the fuck_ up," she says as she juggles her coffee and reaches out for her glasses. She perches them on her nose and does her best uptight librarian impression. Too late she sees Bucky's slow grin and remembers that he _likes_ her uptight librarian impression. "Steve and I had a couple of drinks, in a public venue. Which was _nice_. I forgot that two people could 'have drinks' without that being code for 'split a six pack of Lights between blow jobs'." 

Bucky winces and stands up, immediately she feels like the worst sort of bitch. "I know..." Bucky begins carefully as his prosthetic hand goes up to grip the back of his neck, "I didn't think... I just... I trust you. You're my girl and he's my best friend." 

Darcy narrows her eyes at that. He's never called her 'his girl' before. She burrows a little more pointedly into her duvet, "So this surprise..." 

"It's our anniversary?" 

She snorts, "Not even close, buster." 

"No, _it is_." 

"Incorrect. Anniversaries are for _couples_. This time last year I didn't even know you. I was in -" 

"Karachi, transiting toward Skardu, because _God forbid_ that any astronomical phenomena happen in a safe, accessible, developed country. This day last year I saw you for the first time. You were in the open maybe two feet from a ravine, blindly wandering around trying to get reception on your satphone. Let me tell you kid, after that week I felt every one of my 97 years. I didn't fall in love with you then, mostly I just marvelled that you'd managed to stay alive for as long as you had." 

It's the most Bucky has ever spoken to her and she's quick to latch on to the salient point. "But you _did_ fall in love with me?" 

He moves back to her side and pushes her hair back from her face, "I fell so hard my teeth are still rattling, Doll." 

She might have let out a little goofy sigh at that moment, but she recovers nicely with a stern nod as she says "Good." 

He does that mealy-mouth thing he does when he's holding his tongue and gets up to rifle through her closet for a small duffle bag, "Dress warm, wear jeans. Pack for a couple of nights." 

Darcy tries to hide her grin, because it's _still_ disgustingly early and she can't seem too keen, or he'll make a habit of early wake-up calls. 

"And Darce?" He pauses on his way out, "Panties are optional." 

~*~ 

Darcy takes twenty minutes to get ready, that's ten minutes less than he's planned for, and Bucky is pleasantly surprised when she stumbles out into the cold morning, tossing her bag his way. "Okay, wow me, baby. Where's my surprise?" She dances from foot to foot trying to keep warm so he steps up, unzips his jacket and pulls her back against the warmth of his chest and points to the spot where he's parked her surprise. 

" _Get out!_ " she squeals with delight and Bucky relaxes a little as she grips his jacket around her shoulders and drags them both over toward the motorcycle. The 1942 BMW R75 motorcycle/sidecar combination had been restored beautifully, finding it overnight had been a nightmare, renting it had been nauseatingly expensive. But hearing the delight in Darcy's voice and feeling her shuffle and dance excitedly against his front makes him consider sourcing one on a more permanent basis. 

"Figured we could beat the traffic out of the city, take our time getting upstate, hole up in a fancy B&B." 

Darcy just nods enthusiastically as she pitches forward, out of his arms, leaving him surprisingly cold as she turns her full attention to the bike. He feels stupid for resenting the way that she had appreciated Steve's bike. He can see it now for what it was: friendly admiration. The way she's stroking the sidecar? It's perfectly _carnal_. 

"I had one of these, back in the day," he tells her. 

Darcy stops mid stroke and narrows her eyes at him. "It's a German make." 

"Well I didn't _buy_ it," he explains as he reaches for the set of helmets in the car, "Stole it from a scout. You like it?" 

Her smile is so bright that even in the pre-dawn darkness he feels warmer. "It's a classic," she says with a wink, "Just like you. I love the classics." 

"Is that so?" He can't help himself, they're _both_ grinning like idiots. 

"Sure is," Darcy drawls as she grips his collar and drags him close, "Nothing like riding a bona fide classic."


End file.
